


in the garden

by tyrseward



Series: Good Omens Fics [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AKA, Canon Compliant, Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Gen, Lowercase, Wings, You Can't Prove It Didn't Happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 03:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrseward/pseuds/tyrseward
Summary: it is the last day in the garden.





	in the garden

**Author's Note:**

> for anyone who reads what i post on "persistence", this may look similar cos i accidentally posted this there before realizing it didn't belong. that chapter is now deleted!

it is the last day in the garden. aziraphale spends it by wandering, winding through the barely-there paths left behind by the humans, taking in what may very well be the last he sees of earth for quite a long time.

a muffled voice rings out in the distance, and though he cannot make out what is said, their pain is evident.

aziraphale falters, unsure of whether he should investigate. after all, he is sure the other guardians have not left their posts, and no humans are left in the garden. that leaves only one possibility as to who could be here with him.

speaking with a demon once is a risk, but twice? and not to mention seeking them out? that is unheard of.

he turns and walks toward the voice’s source.

after all, it is his last day in the garden. who’s to say he shouldn’t seize this last chance to converse with someone who treats him as an equal?

⁋

crawley is having a downright rotten day. they had, until now, avoided even glancing at their tattered wings. too hurt, too angry, too grief-stricken to dare attempt to tend to their wings, they had chosen to pretend there was no need to.

however, upon seeing the crystal clear, almost holy creek running through eden, they had been unable to resist.

this may not be holy water - and thank satan for that, they don’t fancy being obliterated from existence - but it is fresh, clean. it is what hell lacks and what they need.

but acknowledging that something is, in fact, wrong with their wings encourages the pain to return and make their efforts to clean and repair nearly unbearable. they cannot maneuver their wings in a way that allows them to reach the most beaten and battered parts, and what they can reach poses enough of an issue on their own.

the one thing they are grateful for is that they are alone, no one to see their weakness or take advantage of it. it has not been long since the fall, but the fallen waste no time to push each other down further.

of course, that is when a twig snaps behind them. they whirl around, hissing in fear and pain.

“i didn’t mean to startle you,” says the angel. crawley does not allow themself to relax, ignoring how the angel’s presence, this angel in particular, is a balm to their aching heart. “but it appears you could use some help.”

here, crawley does not need to pretend to still be on edge. the idea of anyone, even this kind angel, touching their wings is unspeakable. after a long enough time passes in which they do not respond, the angel glances away, toward the treeline.

“my apologies,” he says, and the greatest surprise of all is that he sounds genuine. “i didn’t mean to overstep.”

they still do not respond. as much as they’d rather no one touch their wings, they know their wings will never heal properly unless they receive help.

“i… would appreciate help,” they say lowly, still uncertain but committing to their decision nonetheless. after all, this is the angel who gave away his sword to the humans, who treated crawley as an equal when no one else would. if he cannot be trusted, then surely no one else can.

the angel straightens, shifts his foot uncertainly, and crawley rolls their eyes. despite the screaming in their head telling them not to turn their back on an enemy, they turn back toward the creek, extending their wings as much as they are able.

“just hurry it up,” crawley grumbles, “it wouldn’t be good for me to be caught letting an angel groom my wings.”

humming in what might be agreement, the angel takes a few steps forward, hands brushing against the wings lightly. it is a kind, gentle touch, but crawley cannot help but flinch away with a quiet hiss.

the angel shushes them, whispers assurances, then returns his hands to their wings.

at first, crawley sits as still as a statue, not daring to so much as breathe. but as time wears on, they slowly, slowly untense. the angel makes no comment, for which they are grateful.

“shouldn’t be too much longer,” the angel says at one point, running a palm over the now-smooth left wing. it still hurts, still needs time to heal, but now at least it will be able to heal at all. “your wings are quite beautiful now that there isn’t any soot staining them.”

with that, the angel returns his attention to the right wing.

⁋

the sun is half-hidden behind the horizon by the time the angel is done. he steps back, running a hand over their wings one last time.

“they’re already healing,” he remarks. and yes, crawley can feel it, can feel them mending and knitting back together. the roaring pain from earlier has been reduced to a dull ache that will fade with time.

they spread their wings out to their full length. it is the first time they have been able to do so since the fall, and it is wonderfully freeing. they can’t help the short laugh that escapes, a mix of relief and surprise and something they can’t quite name.

“thanks, angel,” they say, folding their wings back behind them. for his part, the angel smiles softly as he watches them examine their wings.

“of course, crawley,” he responds, then glances toward the setting sun. his smile is replaced by a worried frown. “i ought to be getting back to my post. the others will be checking in soon, no doubt.”

“right. see you later, then, i suppose.”

the angel hesitates, glances back at them with wide eyes.

“perhaps,” he says eventually, “we’ll just have to wait and see, yes?”

then he leaves, crawley’s eyes following him until they can no longer see him.

“well,” they mutter to themself, “suppose it’s time i left the garden.”

**Author's Note:**

> ngl this was written in the notes app of my phone right before i fell asleep cos i had an Idea and yet somehow didn't mention once what i originally meant to. suppose that just means i have a bit more to write about lmao.
> 
> update 02/17/2020: also [posted on tumblr](https://tyrseward.tumblr.com/post/190873019568/in-the-garden)! i made a blog specifically to post my fanfics there, as well.


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